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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923219">Killing Me Softly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14'>NeuroWriter14</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Do not repost, Episode: s02e07 Yakimono, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-Con Not Between Mains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:00:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A near miss leads Will right back to Hannibal and series of unwanted and uncharted emotions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys. Mental health is really important. If you're triggered by, at least, heavily implied attempted rape, please be wary when reading ahead. Your mental health is more important than this fic. </p><p>Also this was supposed to be a one shot and then I realized how much I could run with it. So I'm gonna.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hannibal wasn't expecting the pounding on his door when it came at nearly 2 am. He certainly wasn't expecting it to continue, meaning it was someone who very clearly wanted his attention. And he certainly wasn't expecting to find Will Graham on the other side, leaning against the door frame. He knew at some point Will would return, he had counted on it to some degree. Will was just as enchanted by him as Hannibal was by the younger man. Or so he hoped anyway. He had very carefully laid out plans which first implicated Will Graham but then freed him, making the FBI investigate not only Will but his claims that Hannibal was the Ripper. When no evidence was found to implicate Hannibal, his orchestration came to a crescendo with Will's release and the subsequent framing and imprisonment of Frederick Chilton. It was a very well laid plan. No one would look into Hannibal again, once Will's claims were evaluated and then refuted, and no one would look at Will again now that it was quite obvious that he was indeed framed. Everything was tied up in a nice little bow which should have dragged Will back to him. </p><p>And he did come back, gun in hand in Hannibal's kitchen. </p><p>He was strangely afraid that night, mostly of the unpredictable younger man who was completely capable of taking his life. But Will didn't. He left, leaving them both alive and free. </p><p>So, he knew Will would come back. But he wasn't expecting it to be like this. </p><p>Will was dressed nicely in a pair of dress slacks and a tucked-in dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone, revealing his chest slightly. His hair was still a little shaggy, curling around his ears in a way that Hannibal found all too endearing. He had to admit that seeing Will, despite the other's recent foray into his house uninvited, sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He had learned the hard way, first by thinking Will was dead and then again when he no longer had the other within arm's reach, just how much he truly enjoyed Will. He was obsessed from the first, and he was honest enough with himself to know that and accept it. But it was only later that he realized his obsession had veered wildly out of his intellectual curiosity and interest in friendship to something far deeper. </p><p>He loved Will. </p><p>"Will," He said lowly, greeting the other leaning against his doorway, nearly half in the door already. "This is unexpected." </p><p>Will's ocean-colored eyes flicked up to his and immediately, Hannibal noticed just how different this encounter was. Will's eyes were foggy and half-lidded and as Hannibal leaned forward slightly, he could smell the alcohol on the other. But there was something else. Something strangely salty. </p><p>He stepped closer to the other as Will attempted to stand upright only to fall slightly against Hannibal. </p><p>"Don't-" Will tried to say, but couldn't force the word out. "Very fuzzy." </p><p>Hannibal shifted to bear Will's weight better when a taxi pulled up in front of his house. </p><p>A man stood out of the back of it, telling the driver to stay before he trotted toward the steps, plastering a smile on his face. </p><p>Much like Will, Hannibal always had a way to see people. He could see in them, see who they were. Also like Will, it always worked best with the worst. And every alarm in Hannibal's mind started ringing the moment the man with the fake smile trotted up his steps. </p><p>"I am so sorry," He said, feigning politeness and concern. "I lost track of him at the bar. I'm so sorry he woke you up." The man turned to Will, smiling a smile that could almost be seen as fond and slightly wary. Except to Hannibal, it looked eerily like the smile of a shark. "We really should be getting home." </p><p>The man reached for Will, but Hannibal pulled Will closer. </p><p>"Look man, there's some misunderstanding here." The stranger said, obviously becoming annoyed. </p><p>Will shifted against him, his weight pressing more and more into Hannibal's side. </p><p>"Clearly," Hannibal responded, not bothering to make his tone friendly. </p><p>With Will so close, he could very clearly tell what it was he was picking up on initially. Rohypnol. Will was drugged. His grip tightened on the other, feeling Will reach up and grasp part of his robe, clutching for balance. The man looked back and forth between the two of them, and Hannibal took his chance to study the man thoroughly. He would need to remember him for when he saw him again. The man raised his hands placatingly and muttered an apology before moving back down the steps. With a glance over his shoulder, he slid into the cab as Hannibal pulled Will into the house. </p><p>He locked the door behind him before looking over the other. He wouldn't be on his feet much longer and Hannibal wouldn't have him hurting himself. The other's head lolled slightly as Hannibal bent, wrapping his arm under Will's legs and hoisting the other upward. Will was nearly dead to the world as Hannibal carried him up the stairs, silently fuming. </p><p>He had only ever been this angry once before. It didn't turn out well for the other people then. It wouldn't turn out well for the man tonight. </p><p>He shouldered his way into his guest bedroom, lying Will down on the bed. He was grateful this wasn't one of the nights Alana stayed over. He turned Will onto his side, moving the trash can next to the bed closer in case the other should need it. Then he moved down the bed, removing Will's shoes and setting them carefully next to the bed. Will sound asleep, not even moving as Hannibal pulled his jacket from him, setting it on the chair across the room. He then pulled at the covers, tucking Will carefully under them.</p><p>Will looked strangely peaceful and it made some part of Hannibal hum contently to know that Will was sleeping under his roof. He had seen the other sleep peacefully once before on the drive to Minnesota. Will had slept in his passenger seat and Hannibal was content to silently watch over him. He very much wanted to do the same now. But he didn't know how Will would react if he woke up in a strange place with Hannibal potentially sleeping in a chair next to him. Not that the same thing hadn't happened previously. Hannibal, despite everything, had practically rooted himself into the chair at Will's bedside in the hospital. </p><p>He resisted the urge to reach out and brush a curl back from Will's face. </p><p>Instead, he left the room quietly to grab a glass of water and some aspirin, placing it at Will's bedside. </p><p>Again, he forced himself away, feeling some part of himself longing to stay in the same room as Will. But he had other things he had to attend to, and Will wouldn't wake up any time soon. Though when he did wake, he would be in a safe place. And that thought somewhat managed to calm the protective beast within him that wanted nothing more than to curl around Will and bat the rest of the world away. </p><p>But that same monster longed for blood now. </p><p>Hannibal stepped out of the room, shutting the door quietly. </p><p>For a moment, he stood outside the room, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment. </p><p>And when he opened them, he knew exactly what he had to do.</p><hr/><p>Will wasn't certain if Hannibal was ignoring him or respecting his privacy. The other didn't appear as Will had practically snuck out of his house the next morning with a headache to rival those during his encephalitis. He left Hannibal's house and used what was left of his phone's battery to call a cab to take him to his car, still parked outside the bar. He didn't even remember how he managed to make it to Hannibal's, only that after his last whiskey, he didn't quite feel right. He vaguely remembered feeling the need to leave and knowing that Hannibal's place was close. And then he remembered seeing Hannibal's face, and a flash of what he was certain was anger. And then nothing. </p><p>That was hours ago though, and Will had managed to calm his headache with Gatorade and a mediocre meal. Hannibal hadn't called, and he hadn't bothered trying to contact Hannibal. He couldn't. </p><p>He found himself staring at the floor in front of him, the dogs lying around him and the chair he was in, while a fire crackled. Now and then, he would look over at his bedside table at his phone which hadn't lit up once since he plugged it in and turned it on. </p><p>In all honestly, part of him felt ashamed. He should have been paying more attention. He should have noticed that someone slipped something into his drink. He was certain it was the man he was chatting with at the bar. He thought maybe he saw him later, but his memory was mostly filled with Hannibal, what little memory he had. He hated that when his brain no longer obeyed him, his immediate reaction was to find Hannibal. Hannibal was his safe place before he ever realized what Hannibal truly was. And he was still, no matter how hard Will tried to fight him from his brain.</p><p>Even in BSHCI, he felt a strange jump in his chest when Hannibal appeared.</p><p>He had known, for a while though he never admitted it to himself, who Hannibal was. He knew from the moment he saw him with Silvestri's donor in the back of the ambulance. And part of him had wanted to confront Hannibal about it. He had even gone with wine to do just that. But any time they had wouldn't have been them alone. Hannibal had a staff constantly buzzing around him as he prepared for a dinner which he had invited Will to. In hindsight, Will could have probably stayed and spoken with Hannibal later. </p><p>He shouldn't still be so enchanted with Hannibal, mostly because he felt so akin to him. But he was betrayed too. And he had to remember that. </p><p>He couldn't forget. He had to remind himself all the time. </p><p>He couldn't forget. </p><p>
  <em>Don't forget. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't forget. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't forget.</em>
</p><p>Will's phone rang and he jumped from the chair and rushed to the bedside table. </p><p>Jack's name appeared on the screen and Will wouldn't acknowledge the way his heart sank slightly. Because it didn't sink, he tried to tell himself. Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. He killed Abigail. He killed Beverly. </p><p>And Will hated that he would have forgiven him for it. </p><p>But Hannibal betrayed him. He tore into his mind, making him doubt himself and what he thought was real. He lost himself, and that was what he feared the most. </p><p>He wouldn't admit that he was so incredibly clear now, compared to before. And that he wanted so desperately to share that clarity with Hannibal. </p><p>"Graham," He answered. </p><p>"It's a weird one." Was all Jack said before giving him the address. </p><p>Will sighed and rather reluctantly let the dogs out before pulling on his jacket to begin the trip back to Baltimore. The closer he came to Baltimore, the more anxious he became. The sun was touching the horizon and had dipped below by the time Will made it into Baltimore. He weaved his way to the crime scene, though his GPS was superfluous by the time he pulled onto the street, seeing just how many cars and flashing lights there were to greet him including a familiar sleek Bentley. </p><p>He sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face. He hoped he hadn't done anything too terrible the night before. He hoped that he had just passed out in Hannibal's spare bedroom and that was it. </p><p>He stood from his car and made his way to the crime scene, schooling his face. He knew the game he had started playing in BSHCI had to continue, though it wasn't exactly a game. It felt more like he had been asleep for so long and now he was finally awake. The night air nipped at his cheeks as he ducked under the crime scene tape and he was incredibly grateful for the cold making his face red to cover the redness that rushed into his cheeks at the sight of Hannibal. </p><p>He forced himself to look away from the man and instead on the body in front of him. </p><p>If it even could be considered a body. </p><p>The man's body was torn apart. Each of his limbs was skewered on a different sword and his torso on a fifth. The limbs were all upside down along with the torso. They were all balanced on a sky blue tarp or blanket that gave the illusion they were all upside down. The head was set upright, eyes and tongue placed carefully in front of the body. The scene was gruesome with limbs turned and twisted and skewered this way and that, but Will could see the beauty in it. But that wasn't the worst part. </p><p>He knew this man. </p><p>He remembered him. </p><p>The man from the bar. The same man who had followed him to Hannibal's house when his brain felt so foggy, he couldn't tell which way was up. He remembered clinging to Hannibal, unable to articulate what exactly was going on. He remembered the flash of anger on Hannibal's face as he glared the man down and the way he barely bothered disguising his voice. He remembered Hannibal's tight grip and how closely he pressed Will against him. He also vaguely remembered Hannibal depositing him in bed and then leaving. He didn't touch him, didn't do anything other than make him comfortable. </p><p>Will couldn't help but think that when Hannibal left, he had gone to do this. It would explain why he hadn't seen the other in the morning. </p><p>He couldn't force himself to look over at Hannibal and instead focused on the body. He had forgotten himself for a moment. He schooled his face once more and gave some generic answers about the crime scene. He told Jack that the man had died because he was a pig, taken apart and displayed for his shame. He ignored Hannibal's input, forcing himself not to think about the fact that Hannibal had done this for him. </p><p>Jack pulled him aside asking him if it was the Ripper. Will almost answered honestly, but instead, he answered with an "I don't know" that certainly wasn't fooling Jack. </p><p>But he didn't care. He had other things on his mind. </p><p>The very real reality of what could have happened to him had he not somehow had the brain power to go to Hannibal's was crashing into him over and over again like waves during a storm. But even more, he couldn't help but think about everything else that could have happened but didn't. Hannibal didn't take advantage of him. Didn't put him in a precarious situation. Instead, he put him in bed and went out to kill. For him. </p><p>He didn't bother waiting to see if Hannibal followed him. He jumped into his car, not bothering to say anything to anyone, and drove like a bat out of hell to the other side of Baltimore to Hannibal's house. Hannibal was right behind him and didn't wait for him before he opened the front door to his house, holding it open for Will to enter behind him. </p><p>Hannibal took off his jacket and Will mirrored him before following the other into the kitchen. </p><p>"Have you eaten?" </p><p>Will wanted to yell. Hannibal was offering what was probably meat from the kill he had left so boldly for Will. He wasn't sure Hannibal would have killed again so openly if not for the previous night. </p><p>"Why?" He asked, barely restraining the tirade of emotions that was clogging his throat. </p><p>"Because I am about to make dinner and since you are here as well, it would be rude to not offer you food." </p><p>"You know that's not what I meant." </p><p>Will didn't move as Hannibal neared him. He was blocking a cabinet from having followed the other into the kitchen, stopping only steps away. But Hannibal had moved closer, about to grasp something in the cabinets that he was blocking. Hannibal stopped directly in front of him, finally looking him in the eyes. </p><p>Hannibal was incredibly handsome and it was hard to ignore it when they were this close. His cheekbones, his jaw. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The strength of his arms. The way he could be so gentle and so brutal when he wanted to be. Will was drawn to him. He wanted him. And when Hannibal did things like this, murdered for him, it was hard to remember why he wanted to stay away. Why he had to stay away. </p><p>Was Hannibal closer? </p><p>"Why?" Will asked again, his voice breathy even to his own ears. </p><p>Hannibal pushed forward, cupping Will's face. Their lips met before he even understood what was happening. His hand shot upward, fisting in Hannibal's hair and pulling him back slightly. He should be angry. He should be disgusted. A man was just torn apart, dismembered and skewered on swords. Hannibal had done that. He had killed before and he killed again and he had fed his victims to others. To Will. And he was going to do it again. He should feel any number of emotions. He could kill Hannibal, right here, right now. The other would let him too, Will knew it. All it would take was a reach of the hand and a snap of the neck. Hannibal was at his mercy and he could do anything.</p><p>But all he felt was insane, insatiable want. </p><p>He shifted forward, kissing Hannibal once again. The other smiled slightly against his lips before kissing him back. Hannibal's arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. </p><p>He pressed the other closer, sucking in a breath. Hannibal felt so strange yet so familiar. </p><p>They shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't want to do this. He shouldn't want Hannibal so terribly it left an ache in his chest. He had gone to the bar in the first place to forget Hannibal, to pull himself away from the other man. Part of him chose Baltimore out of spite. He doubted Hannibal would ever have stepped foot in such a place, but Will would have taken some degree of pleasure in knowing that Hannibal could have appeared at any moment and knowing that he could have left and run right into Hannibal with someone else on his arm. And yet all it served to do was drag him right back to Hannibal. And god did he want to be there.</p><p>Ultimately, it was the goal. He wanted to lure Hannibal in using himself as bait. He had yet to pitch it to Jack fully, but he would have and Jack would go along with it. Hannibal had so often been the puppeteer and everyone around him the marionets. And now it was Will's turn. He had to justify to Jack his return to Hannibal's sphere somehow. Justice was the easiest way to earn Jack's favor. And Hannibal would so easily be lured by Will. He was certain of it. And now he had proof. </p><p>What was worse though, is that he didn't want to use it. </p><p>Why did Hannibal have to feel so damned good? </p><p>The other reached up, gently petting over Will's hair before he pulled back slightly. </p><p>"What do you want, Will?" </p><p>Will was breathing heavily, his eyes opening slowly after having lost himself so thoroughly to Hannibal. </p><p>He had no idea what he wanted. For a moment, he wasn't even certain who he was. His mind was blissfully silent. </p><p>It didn't last. </p><p>Everything came crashing back and Will's hand flexed briefly in Hannibal's hair before he forced himself away. Not that he could go far, but it was enough to remove the two of them from each other's grasps. He could think better then. </p><p>What did he want? </p><p>He moved out of the way of the cabinet so that Hannibal could resume his earlier task while he moved over to the chair in the kitchen, sitting down with a sigh. </p><p>He knew what he should want. He should want revenge, and some part of him did still. </p><p>But he also wanted, god he wanted-</p><p>He looked up, watching Hannibal who moved around the kitchen silently, every bit the predator capable of the brutal kill that was now circling the forefront of Will's mind.</p><p>Hannibal killed for him. Specifically for him. </p><p>Will wanted to draw Hannibal back in, against him. Though he wasn't quite certain if it was to kiss him again or to rip out the other's jugular with his teeth. </p><p>"I don't know what I want," Will said, the words leaving his mouth before his brain could catch up. "I have to deal with you and my feelings about you. I think it's best if I do that directly." </p><p>He watched as Hannibal's eyes shot up toward him and within their amber depths was nothing short of smug satisfaction and triumph. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a bit of a shorter chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Will was staring at something above him. Something that was also absolutely nothing. It was dark and it was light at the same time. Will was lying on his back, staring upward. Whatever he was lying on began to shift under him. The everything and nothing above him stared back at him as his body rippled and shifted. Something brushed over his arm, lightly at first almost flirty. But the touch soon changed, gripping his arm. He looked, seeing a sickly grey hand grasping. And then his other arm was grabbed. Will's head whipped to the other side, finding another hand, this one decaying. More hands grasped at his legs and then they began moving upward, grabbing his shoulders and torso. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They grabbed and tugged, his clothes pushing and pulling in various directions as he struggled to move away. The hands dug in harder, nails piercing his skin before eventually, one wrapped around his throat. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will couldn't breathe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Every breath tried to force itself by the vice-like grip on his throat. His pulse hammered in his ears, trying desperately to flow back to his heart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will gasped for breath, but none came. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He screamed, but his voice was cut off. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I lost track of him at the bar." A voice said. "Didn't you want to come home with me?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Such a pretty thing," Another voice cooed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>More voices joined the chorus, becoming louder and louder until they felt like the hands on him, tearing at his ears and mind the same way the hands tore at him and his clothing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn't escape.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There was no escape.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"How are you feeling?" Hannibal asked from his chair across from Will.</p><p>Will had been an odd combination of relaxed and fidgety since he entered Hannibal's office. It reminded Hannibal of when their conversations first began, although his eyes were far more cunning and focused than they had ever been in Hannibal's presence. He assumed Will was like that naturally, the darkness brewing just under the ocean blue of his eyes, without the encephalitis there to inhibit him. But this was also something more. Will's inability to relax previously came from his internal fight with himself. But this wasn't that same fight. This was something else. </p><p>Hannibal could guess what. </p><p>But at the moment, he was far more concerned with the physical effects of the drug as it worked its way out of Will's system completely. The psychological implications could be dealt with later. Extensively. </p><p>Especially considering the one aspect of that night that continued to vex Hannibal. He could easily argue that the reason Will had come to him while under the drugs was because he knew Hannibal was nearby. But he doubted something as mundane was the reason Will appeared on his doorstep. </p><p>Will seemed to guess that Hannibal's question was directed toward his physical state, as the albeit vague answer he gave was far more positive than it would have been for his mental state. Given though, that Will was prone to ignoring his own physical state, Hannibal was resigned to watch him for the duration of their session. Not that it mattered. He would have watched Will anyway. </p><p>Will had dressed similarly as he did the night he appeared on Hannibal's doorstep. Only that outfit hadn't been catered to someone, this outfit was very clearly for Hannibal. His hair was shorter and neat. Hannibal, though, would have preferred his normal, messy curls. His curls were enticing, the way they fell around his face and over his head. Part of Hannibal longed to twine his fingers in those curls, to pull and tug and see what reactions crossed that beautiful face. But he wouldn't. Not unless Will wanted him to. </p><p>And truly, he didn't know if that was what Will wanted. </p><p>Hannibal had seen his face at his crime scene, the body he left for him to find. It was only for Will, though the FBI jumped on it immediately. It was risky, Hannibal knew, especially so soon after framing Frederick Chilton. Which was partially why he never took any organs. Will would likely know this by now, given that an autopsy was no doubt done on the body. This would look like a crime of passion, and in a way it was. It was by far the least planned out kill Hannibal had done in quite a while. His kills were always meticulous, his pigs chosen well. This pig was chosen well too and felt every ounce of Hannibal's anger before he died. The other reason Hannibal never took any organs was for Will. He knew, after seeing Hannibal's gift, Will would likely return to his house with questions and would stay for dinner, as he did. Though Hannibal saw a bit of irony in feeding Will the man who had attempted such an act, he doubted Will would have appreciated it. So, he left every organ. </p><p>And the Chesapeake Ripper was still considered in custody for all intents and purposes. </p><p>But Hannibal didn't focus so much on the dinner that followed. His mind still circled around the crime scene and their interaction that followed in his kitchen. </p><p>Will <em>remembered. </em>And Hannibal knew he did. He could see it, written plainly across his face. It was a wonder Jack didn't see it as well. But no one was paying as much attention to Will as Hannibal was. It had been that way from the very first crime scene they had gone to together. Everyone else left Will to his devices, his ultimately double-edged devices, except Hannibal. Will tolerated him in his space when his mind drifted away, and even sometimes following when his mind was clearly in the moment. So, Hannibal saw the moment Will remembered the man. Will knew why he had died and yet said nothing. Not until he was in Hannibal's kitchen, nearly pleading to know why. </p><p>Will could see everything, except the way someone else saw him. The way Hannibal saw him. And to Hannibal, he was nothing short of a god. A righteous, wrathful god who was to be worshipped and adored. Hannibal planned to do both. </p><p>He hadn't exactly planned to kiss him though. </p><p>Hannibal knew some of the things he did were considered monstrous and he knew he could be downright cruel. But he was not that type of monster. His darkness had never been sexual in nature and he refused to take advantage of someone in that way. It was Will's pleading, ultimately. Will wouldn't see it as pleading, but he couldn't see his face the way Hannibal had. And he couldn't stop himself. </p><p>And then Will didn't stop either. </p><p>But he knew the younger man wasn't in the right state of mind. No matter how much Hannibal wanted him, and he wanted him, he wouldn't do anything more unless Will wanted it too. Unless Will was in the right state of mind to know he wanted it too. </p><p>There were still somethings between them that had to be dealt with, but that would come in time. </p><p>For now, though, Hannibal wondered what Will would bring up, given that he could see the words dancing across the tip of the other's tongue. </p><p>He had questions he longed to ask, but he knew Will would work around to them eventually. </p><p>Or maybe he wouldn't. </p><p>He seemed content to outwait Hannibal's silence. And he probably could, given just how stubborn he could be. </p><p>"Why didn't you do anything that night?" Will wasn't looking at him when he asked, but the words were spoken as though he already knew the answer. Which most likely, he did. </p><p>"Why would I?" Hannibal asked in return. </p><p>Will's lips twitched but he didn't say whatever was swirling behind his eyes. It seemed that this was to be the game between them. Both knowing but neither acknowledging the secrets between them. Except for one. </p><p>Will deliberated with himself for a moment, the thoughts churning in his mind so loudly that Hannibal could almost hear them. What he would give to have the voiced aloud. Or even better, to dive into Will's mind himself. </p><p>It seemed, however, that whatever Will was deliberating about, he ultimately kept to himself and left after his session with little exchanged between them. Hannibal almost felt a twinge of sadness at it, except that Will was there, in his office. He had come back, just as Hannibal knew he would. </p><p>And he didn't have to wait long for something else to send Will back into Hannibal's orbit. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At this point in his life, Will didn't think knowing that a woman was sewn into a horse was any weirder than the day-to-day minutia of his everyday life. What was worse was that he knew, from the moment he saw Clark Ingram, that the man was 100% the murderer that Peter would no doubt likely be accused of being. He could <em>see </em>it in his posture, his words, the very way his eyes flickered as he spoke to Alana. Will <em>knew </em>without a shadow of a doubt that while Peter might have sewn the body into the horse, mostly out of respect for woman and animal both, he wasn't the one who committed the murder. And what was worse, was he knew that the relationship between Ingram and Peter so thoroughly mirrored his and Hannibal's, and what their relationship could have become. </p><p>And what was worse was that he that his relationship with Hannibal would never be like that. It just wouldn't. Hannibal respected him too much, though he had a funny way of showing it, to actually treat Will in such a way. Ingram had complete power over Peter, and no one way would believe Peter anyway. Peter had no proof and a worse story. He was injured and had a hard time deal with people. In a way, Hannibal had all but assured that the same thing would not happen to Will. Will had come out the other side of Hannibal's unconventional therapy stronger and darker than he had going in. And part of him liked it. And he hated that he liked it. </p><p>But he also didn't.</p><p>He liked the darkness. He liked the cunning, cruel person Hannibal had revealed. He also hated that same person for having let his guard down. </p><p>Will had resolved coming out of BSHCI that he would never let his guard down again, not around anyone. Not around Jack, who only recently started believing him about who Hannibal was. Not around Hannibal, the same person who had torn into his mind with glee and freed Will's inner darkness from its hard-wrought chains. Not even around Alana, who was so clearly trapped under Hannibal's influence that she was blind to who he really was. </p><p>
  <em>Is he safe?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From me or for you?</em>
</p><p>And he couldn't help but hate Alana. He really shouldn't. But part of him did. He hated Alana because she had rejected him for Hannibal. Hannibal, who was no different than him. People just thought him broken, Alana included. </p><p>Ironically, the only person who didn't think he was broken was Hannibal. </p><p>And Hannibal knew so much more than others did already. He knew about Will's inner darkness, the dark things part of him — most of him — so desperately wanted to do. But he also knew something that Will would ultimately have not told anyone. It was shameful to him that he let his guard down, that he hadn't been careful. Especially when he told himself over and over that he would be. And when his guard was down, and his mind was no longer his, he found himself at Hannibal's, leaning against the man in his doorway while Hannibal looked like he wanted to burn down the world for him. </p><p>Will wanted to hate him, he should hate him. He should hate him for tearing into his mind, and bringing out the very thing that Will hated the most. </p><p>Except he didn't hate it.</p><p>It was complicated. </p><p>His complication was further complicated by the fact that he could still feel the heat of Hannibal's lips on his own. </p><p>And what a confusion that was. </p><p>Hannibal was with Alana, and yet Will knew without a shadow of a doubt that Hannibal had feelings for him. He could feel it in the kiss the other gave him and the fact that he backed away, respecting Will's space and not pressuring him after his near-miss. Hannibal felt good against him and Will had wanted to melt into him. </p><p>Part of him still wanted to trust Hannibal. And part of him knew that he did. </p><p>It was why Hannibal's betrayal had hurt so damned much. It was worse to know that Hannibal had betrayed him, had taken his trust and manipulated it. It was worse than thinking he had killed those people. Mostly because he didn't remember it. </p><p>He had liked killing Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and he told Hannibal as much. But at least Hobbs he remembered. </p><p>He still didn't know what happened to Abigail. Logically, part of him knew that ultimately he was nothing to Abigail Hobbs except her father's murderer. It was no wonder that she had evaluated him with critical eyes. She should hate him, no matter how responsible Will felt for her. And part of him wondered if he was truly responsible for her. Ultimately it was a combination of his own thoughts and Hannibal's persuasion that made him feel responsible for her. </p><p>
  <em>We're her fathers now.</em>
</p><p>He saw some of himself in Abigail, the person with darkness in them even if they tried to fight it. </p><p>He was well aware now that Abigail was the lure for her father. </p><p>And maybe that was why part of him felt such a kinship with her. He certainly didn't with some of the other victims, except for maybe the kids. And now Peter Bernadone. </p><p>All of this ran through Will's mind as he sat in the car next to Hannibal on the way to the stables he had visited twice before. It wasn't as though he hadn't been alone with Hannibal before, the two of them had been in his office alone as recently as the day before. But something about this car ride felt different. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to strange Hannibal or ask him to pull over so he could kiss him again. The other man truly had a profound effect on him. </p><p>It wasn't the first time he had wanted to kiss Hannibal Lecter. He was well aware that he was attracted to the man long before he ever realized who Hannibal truly was. If and when the world found it out, he had no doubt someone would call him 'Hannibal the Cannibal.' And it didn't bother him. Hannibal being the Chesapeake Ripper didn't bother him. Hannibal being a cannibal, not that the Ripper thought his victims anywhere equal to him for it to truly be cannibalism, didn't bother him. He would have accepted Hannibal had he trusted him earlier. Truly, it was only because of his betrayal that Will felt the need to lash out in any form. </p><p>Whatever form that may be. </p><p>Part of him wanted to kill Hannibal himself. Part of him wanted to lock him up. It wasn't justice, Will wasn't in this for justice. It was revenge. Hannibal would be placed in BSHCI. It would be so easy for him to plead insanity. And then he would find himself in the very same place he locked Will in. Hannibal had all but turned the key. </p><p>The only reason Will didn't kill him was because he knew that without Hannibal he would be so desperately <em>lonely. </em>And he didn't know if he could take that again. He had already felt so lonely before Hannibal. He never admitted it, but he didn't really know what he would have done if Jack hadn't insisted that Hannibal parade around his mind to begin with. Some part of him hated Jack for that. He hated psychiatrists before. But Hannibal had somehow managed to endear himself to Will so quickly. He was back only days after Hannibal cleared him because Hannibal was so easy to talk to. To connect with. For Will anyway. He never truly connected with anyone. </p><p>He wondered how many of Hannibal's connections were real. </p><p>He was all too certain that their connection was more than real. </p><p>His body moved of its own accord, his responses automatic as only a small part of him was still paying attention to everything around him. Another part of him was focused completely on Hannibal, but the vast majority of his mind was still circling the thoughts that he had probably overthought in the last few days. </p><p>"I envy you, your hate." He told Peter. And it was true. Hatred would make things so much easier. </p><p>"Makes what easier?" Peter asked, and Will realized he had said that part aloud. </p><p>"To kill," He elaborated. </p><p>And Peter protested immediately. </p><p>Ingram was still alive. </p><p>And with Hannibal. </p><p>He truly didn't know what he was racing toward more. Protecting Hannibal — not that Hannibal needed protecting — or killing Ingram. He wanted both. He saw Ingram for exactly who he was. Someone who took advantage of those who couldn't defend themselves. Will wanted to tear him apart. </p><p>Or was it Hannibal he wanted to tear apart?</p><p>Either way, it came down to this: Will had a gun and two worthy victims. Ingram, who repeatedly hid behind Peter, who knew Peter would go down for his crimes just because Ingram could waggle his silver tongue and explain himself in a way Peter never could. And Hannibal, who had done something so similar to Will, though for a different motive. </p><p>Will couldn't help but think that Hannibal's motives were far more selfish than Ingram's. Hannibal wanted Will all to himself. He wanted Will's darkness no longer caged and he wanted the beast that came with it at his side. He wanted a connection, to connect with Will. He wanted to be known, to be seen. And he wanted Will to see him. Ultimately his gambit was quite crafty in hindsight, though Will hated it. He had everyone looking at Will and when Will pointed right back at him, he could feign ignorance. And then, he would cleverly redirect the finger elsewhere, onto Frederick Chilton. Now, no one would look at Will or Hannibal.</p><p>Unless Will made them. </p><p>Will had his finger on the trigger. Oh, how easy it would be. Ingram was clearly more than willing to kill Peter. Will saw it as Hannibal stepped aside. And Hannibal? He <em>stepped aside</em>. Hannibal was giving him complete control. Will could easily swing his arm and kill Hannibal then too. He could argue after that Ingram attacked him, he had the hammer with Ingram's prints on it to prove it. Ingram shot Hannibal, Will shot Ingram to defend himself and Peter. Two birds, one gun. </p><p>But damn it all, that wasn't how he wanted Hannibal to go. If he were going to kill Hannibal, he would do it with his hands. Hannibal's death deserved intimacy. </p><p>Ingram on the other hand-</p><p>Will pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on Hannibal instead. </p><p>And Will wasn't even mad. </p><p>For the second time — as he looked into those amber eyes, watched those lips that he still felt on his own whisper to him — he was so tempted to tell Hannibal the one thing he hadn't told him yet. The one thing he never told anyone. </p><p>It wasn't until much later, and he was back in Hannibal's car, that everything caught up with him again. </p><p>"Pull over," He said. </p><p>"Will," Hannibal began. </p><p>"I said pull over." Will was already struggling with the seatbelt. He'd jump from Hannibal's moving car if he had to. He suddenly felt so trapped. Restricted. </p><p>Hannibal did just that and within moments, Will was free of the car. They were in the middle of nowhere, so when Will stepped into the cool night air, it was in a field just off the highway. The night sky was dark above them and there was barely any light around them save for Hannibal's headlights. Hannibal didn't follow him right away. Instead, he hesitated inside the car as Will pushed away and further into the field. </p><p>All he could see were hands.</p><p>Touching. Grabbing. Pulling, pushing, prodding. </p><p>He wanted to scream. He also so desperately wished Hannibal hadn't interfered earlier. Ingram deserved to die. </p><p>But why did he deserve to die any more than him or Hannibal?</p><p>And why did everyone keep touching him? </p><p>He didn't even realize he was on his knees until Hannibal suddenly bent in front of him. Will was almost amused to see the knees of Hannibal's suit in the mud and snow of the field. He would be quite dirty when he stood. So would Will. The other didn't touch him, instead just stayed directly in front of him with his hands visible. </p><p>It took Will a moment to realize that Hannibal was talking. </p><p>"Breathe, Will." He coaxed, the rumble of his accented voice sinking into Will's bones. "Inhale." Will did. "Exhale." Will did.</p><p>They were silent for a moment as Will regulated his breathing, his heart pounding in his ears. </p><p>"There's something you're not telling me," Hannibal said quietly. </p><p>"There's a lot I haven't told you," Will answered, avoiding the unspoken question and Hannibal's eyes. </p><p>"I don't doubt that," Hannibal didn't force Will to meet his gaze. Some people tried. They would turn and shift to find Will's eyes. Will himself had done it once. And only once. With Hannibal. "But there is something in particular." </p><p>Will gave a half-hearted grunt. </p><p>"Your self-destructive tendencies aren't helping you."</p><p>He was surprised to find Hannibal speaking so bluntly. Hannibal spoke in riddles. He spun spider webs with his words, twisting and turning until people were caught in them, unable to tell up from down. Will could follow his thoughts easily. It was easier than breathing to follow what Hannibal said, because it was how he thought. </p><p>But Hannibal wasn't speaking in riddles now. He wanted Will to understand everything he said and he wasn't taking any chances. </p><p>He lifted his head, searching Hannibal's eyes. The other met him with the same reflective gaze he always had. Everyone else wore their thoughts in their eyes. It was so easy for Will to lose himself in their point of view. He could see every thought as it flew by. But not with Hannibal. The other had very subtle ways of letting Will into his mind, around the forts he had built. Hannibal had cleverly called Will on his forts the first time they met, but the truth was that Hannibal had built them too. Tall walls and high ceilings with trap doors and hidden rooms to keep apart every little aspect of his life. Except with Will. He let Will shimmy through corridors and peek inside one door or another. </p><p>It wasn't his eyes that ever gave him away as it was with most. </p><p>Often, it was his face; the small twitches and differences in expressions. Will had learned to read it, and so often he did as though it were his favorite book. Hannibal was his favorite book. </p><p>And everything he was showing Will was far too raw to be faked. Will had surprised him with his sudden feeling of restriction and the need for freedom. He was concerned. And Will could tell that Hannibal desperately wanted to reach out to him. But he didn't. </p><p>"I want to hate you," Will said, quite bluntly.</p><p>"I know," Hannibal answered. </p><p>"I want to. But I don't." </p><p>"I know," Hannibal said again.  </p><p>"Why can't I hate you?" </p><p>Hannibal was silent, though his expression told Will that he knew what Will knew. He knew why Will couldn't hate him. And he knew that Will knew the answer too. </p><p>"Why did you kiss me?" </p><p>It was then that Hannibal stood, brushing off his knees — though it would do nothing for the stain on them already — and extended a hand to Will. </p><p>"You already know why." </p><p><em>Yes. </em>Will thought to himself as he grasped Hannibal's hand, pushing upward. </p><p>He did know why. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Hands. It was always hands. Grasping, clinging, clutching. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tearing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He could feel his clothes as they tore from his body and he could do nothing to stop it. Over and over they pulled and grasped, ripping through fabric and then into flesh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Too much. It was all too much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands. Hands. Hands. Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will tried to scream, but there were two more; one was on his throat and another covering his mouth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Those curls are sinful," A voice whispered to him. "They look like silk." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You sure are a pretty thing. Won't you come home with me?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I'll make you feel good." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The voices whispered, never reaching above that specific vocal register, but together they sounded like they were shouting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Goddamned hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will felt the flesh on his cheek tear, nails dragging down the side of his face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Hannibal woke as he did every day, long before the sun and even his sleeping companion. Alana had stayed the night in his house, but as she fell asleep — long before Hannibal did — he couldn't help but picture another with dark hair and vibrant blue eyes in his bed. He wouldn't even need to touch Will, not if Will didn't want him to. Not like he had touched Alana the night before. If Will never wanted it, Hannibal would be content. But knowing Will was there and safe under his roof was something he wanted desperately. Though he might want sex at some point. He certainly wasn't one to deny himself that, but he doubted Will would share. </p><p>Hannibal sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. </p><p>Overall, the night had been rather productive. </p><p>He had seen Will the evening before, the two of them talking over the newest killer to fall in the FBI's crosshairs. This one, one Hannibal knew well, was quite an interesting case. He had seen various types of dysphoria over the years, though mostly it was gender dysphoria. But species dysphoria was far more interesting. He remembered, from years past, a young boy who swore up and down that he was born into the wrong species. Not the wrong body, but species altogether. It was fascinating. </p><p>The boy had been set to Hannibal after he had terrified another child. He was said to be screaming 'in an inhumane manner' and biting. He remembered the boy, who was quiet and shy when he first entered Hannibal's presence. He was reserved, watching Hannibal with keen eyes that even he had to agree belonged to an animal. One on the hunt. Randall Tier was an interesting character. Hannibal did for him what he had done for several other patients previously, Will Graham included. He nurtured the darkness he found within Tier, telling him to hone it in the right way so that he might be able to let it out. </p><p>And he had done so, quite magnificently. Hannibal had seen it. </p><p>Yet another crime scene, yet another mind for his dear Will Graham to traipse around. And Will did it beautifully. </p><p>Hannibal could almost see through his eyes, watching the scene unfold, the man becoming an animal. How freeing that must have been for Randall Tier. And how utterly wonderful it worked out for Hannibal. </p><p>His evening with Will wasn't the only productive event to come out of the prior night. </p><p>He didn't fall asleep after Alana did, though he did watch her as she slipped into the night's clutches. Hannibal was gone not long after, searching out a target that was even more interesting than the night's events with Alana herself. Certainly, Alana was interesting, but his heart ultimately belonged to another. Another with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. Ocean blue eyes. And darkness lingering under the surface. </p><p>Hannibal seated himself at his table, looking through his tablet at the newest article written by Freddie Lounds. </p><p>Freddie would have to die, of course. But Hannibal had more pressing matters which drew his attention. </p><p>He was looking for a report on the body or bodies he knew had fallen in the night. </p><p>Freddie was always one step ahead of the FBI, who were always notified after local authorities. He knew Tier was busy the previous night, letting out the beast within. </p><p>Much to his delight, the pictures appeared first. Hannibal couldn't help but admire the way the blood looked on fresh snow. Oh, he would give anything to see Will's reaction to it. To watch him put together the pieces of this murder for himself. To watch him sink into the darkness of another because the darkness was where he truly belonged. Where he flourished. </p><p>Hannibal had seen it. He had felt it. He bore the scars of it. </p><p>And there was still a debt to be paid. </p><p>Idly, he scrolled down from the pictures to Freddie's rather ridiculous, flowery, and ultimately vicious writing. He was certain there was some darkness in her too. It was why she could see others so easily. Will had confided in him at one point that Freddie had openly acknowledged being a psychopath, only to turn around and call everyone else in the room — Alana included — psychopaths. He wished he could have seen the look on Jack's face. </p><p>Freddie, as always, seemed keen on attacking Will's personality, though it felt a bit hollow. She reused bits and pieces of past slander, calling him 'the FBI's rabid bloodhound' and 'insane.' It was all rather stale for her, which was quite interesting. </p><p>
  <em>I'm interviewing Will Graham. At his request. Imagine that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm trying. </em>
</p><p>Ultimately what Freddie said and did, didn't matter. She would be dead soon enough. </p><p>And it wasn't Freddie that Hannibal cared about. </p><p>At the bottom of the article was a picture of Will himself, standing alone in front of the carnage left by Randall Tier. His glasses were in his hand and from the angle, Hannibal could tell his eyes were closed. In front of him were two bodies, blood soaking into the white snow, and the remains of what must have been a large fire. </p><p>Will looked at peace, even as he pieced together what would have been a horrible crime to anyone else. The lines on his face had smoothed, his brow wasn't furrowed, his lips weren't held together, his jaw wasn't tense. He looked like he belonged there, standing over the bodies and blood, as though he had put them there himself. </p><p>Of course, Hannibal knew that wasn't true. He knew who the killer was, his excursion the previous night had answered that for certain. Tier wasn't much different than how Hannibal remembered him when he entered the museum, except was seemingly more well-adjusted. It was an act, Hannibal knew. And a rather good one. No one would look his way if Hannibal didn't point them. Quiet but sweet. That was Tier's angle. Ultimately, Hannibal's hunch was proved true twice over, especially when he watched long enough to see the animal whose skin Tier had built for himself. </p><p>Hannibal would see Will again, later that day, likely during his lunch hour. </p><p>He sipped his coffee, hearing the beginnings of stirrings upstairs.</p><hr/><p>Will didn't know what compelled him to this club. He hadn't been clubbing since his early 20s and he certainly wasn't in his early 20s anymore. Not that he didn't look like it. It was easy enough to grow out his hair and shave his beard and suddenly he looked younger than he was. </p><p>He didn't do that tonight though. He wasn't here to pick up someone, to bury himself in someone else. Not that he hadn't done that before. He had plenty of times. But that all stopped around the time he met Hannibal. And then it started up again after meeting Hannibal. </p><p>Though he hadn't exactly been looking for someone that night and he most certainly wasn't looking for someone tonight. </p><p>He had too much energy. Excess energy that he had no idea what to do with. He could only handle working on his boat, his hands busy but the rest of his body idle for so long. He could only take working on cases for so long. He could only take this ridiculous dance with Hannibal for so long. </p><p>Hannibal, who was so clearly drawn by Will. Hannibal, who so clearly had feelings for Will, if the lingering touch of his lips on Will's meant anything. Hannibal, who still allowed Alana Bloom into his bed over and over while making it so blatantly obvious that she wasn't the one he wanted there. </p><p>Or maybe she was. </p><p>Maybe instead of it being Alana that Hannibal was playing like a fiddle, or in his case a theremin, it was Will. And that just made Will angry. </p><p>He had a jumble of emotions when it came to Hannibal, all of them tied together and indistinguishable like the spaghetti noodles. Sometimes he wanted to tear into Hannibal's flesh himself, to feel the man's heartbeat under his fingers only to snuff it out. Sometimes he wanted to bury himself in Hannibal, to return to that damned intoxicating kiss and his body which felt so right against Will's. Sometimes he wanted both. He wanted to see the pleasure in Hannibal's eyes, pleasure he took from Will's body, only for Will to snatch it away, just as Hannibal had snatched everything from him. </p><p>Some part of him wanted that, and he wanted to make Alana watch. He wanted Alana to know that Hannibal would choose him, not her. He wanted Alana to know that her actions had driven together the monsters within them, and she was the fallout. </p><p>Just as Abigail had been. </p><p>Abigail's death was on them all. Hannibal, Jack, Alana, and Will. Will failed her by letting her roam too close to a monster by not seeing that monster for who he was. And it was Alana and Jack who shoved Will in that direction in the first place. The direction that piqued Hannibal's curiosity and orphaned Abigail Hobbs. </p><p>The lights flashed around Will as he extracted himself from the edge of the dance floor, music humming in his head and thrumming in his chest. No matter how much energy he had, he couldn't force it away like this. People were too close, they were all too close. </p><p>Normally, he would just bury himself in a bottle of whiskey, and certainly, that was tempting. Tempting enough that it was what he ordered as he reached the bar. He hated people and he should know that. He hated the closeness of their bodies and the way they touched him. </p><p>"You look awfully lonely," Someone said at Will's ear, causing him to tense. </p><p>The unknown person shifted, squeezing into the small space at the bar next to him. </p><p>"Whatcha drinking handsome?" </p><p>She was cute, Will supposed, with raven-colored hair and sky blue eyes. She was a head shorter than Will and dainty in stature, but bold. He doubted she was one who was alone often. She fluttered her eyelash at Will, before looking down at his drink, expectantly. </p><p>"Whiskey," Will answered gruffly, turning away. </p><p>"So, you're one of those strong silent types." Her body swayed as people next to her moved, causing her shoulder to bump into Will's arm. </p><p>"Just don't like people," Will answered. </p><p>"You're in the wrong place for that honey," She settled more comfortably next to him now that the space opened up next to her. "You didn't come here for the music and you didn't come here to dance. And you certainly didn't come here for the whiskey. You could drink that at home." </p><p>Will turned toward her, seeing that she obviously wasn't going away anytime soon. "Then what did I come here for?" </p><p>"Maybe a little company?" She ventured. "A chance to get out of the pretty head of yours?" </p><p>"Are you offering to help?" Will was about to turn away again, finishing the last of the whiskey in his glass. </p><p>"Yes." She answered before jumping off the barstool and trailing her hand over his arm. "If you want." </p><p>She was moving then, her hips swaying as she walked away from Will and toward the door that led to the restrooms. Will played with his empty glass for a moment before sighing and pushing away from the bar, following her. </p><p>He was barely through the door when she waylaid him, popping up on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his. For a moment, Will was frozen before he forced himself to kiss back. </p><p>And he felt nothing. </p><p>Nothing at all. </p><p>He tried again, this time leaning into the next kiss. Her hand skirted up his body, reaching forward until she cupped the side of his face. </p><p>And Will's heart stopped. </p><p>Hands. </p><p>The wrong hands. </p><p>He forced himself away from her, feeling his eyes wider than they should be and his heart hammering in his ears louder than the music that was barely blocked by the wooden door. </p><p>"I'm sorry," He told her. "I can't do this."</p><hr/><p>The night air sunk through the jacket and gloves he wore. The snow crunched under his feet as he shifted slightly, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>From this position, hidden in the trees, he could understand one of Will's prior statements to him. From this distance, Will's house did look like a ship out on the water, the lights on inside muting the whole world around it in the snow. He could almost see the land around the house rocking, as though it was a boat on the ocean on a calm night. </p><p>The moon shone above him, not enough to fully illuminate him where he was hidden in the branches, but just enough set the snow ablaze in a fire of silver. </p><p>"The solitude of what you do is to be respected and I intend to honor that. I've only come to offer you words of encouragement." He told his companion, seeing teeth more than anything out of the corner of his eye. </p><p>Tier didn't answer him as Hannibal watched Will shift around inside the house, the dogs moving around his legs.</p><p>"You are becoming, Randall, and this beast is your higher self. Your bodies, voices and wills are one." It was then that Hannibal turned just slightly, looking beyond the jaws and teeth that snapped and killed, and into the eyes of the man, no the beast, next to him. "Revel in what you are." </p><p>He could almost feel bad for Tier as he walked away. He was sending Tier to his death. Will would win, Hannibal knew this. The fight between the two of them, the instincts flaring. It wouldn't even be a competition. But it was a favor nonetheless. </p><p>A favor for Randall, who would be taken into custody and tried as a man. Who would die in prison as a man. If not for this. As it was, Randall was to die as the very being he saw himself as. His last moments would be spent embracing himself for exactly who he was, no longer in the wrong skin and the wrong species, but as everything as brilliant as he should be. He did not belong in the world as a man, but Hannibal could ensure he died as a beast. </p><p>And it was a favor for Will. A favor to feed the darkness within. A favor to let him exercise all that energy within him that Hannibal could sense brewing under his skin. A favor to give him the same thing he gave Randall. A chance to be himself. </p><p>Oh, Will would win. </p><p>But he would win as who he was. </p><p>Will Graham, in all his glory. </p><p>Their debts were paid to one another.</p><p>Hannibal almost wished he could watch. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here comes the rest of the canon divergence!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will was calm. </p><p>For the first time in weeks. </p><p>How odd that was. </p><p>If he closed his eyes, he could see everything that led to this point. He could hear Buster's whimpers echoing over the snow, he could feel the cold as it brushed over his cheeks while he ran out to protect his dog. He could hear his heart, perfectly calm once he steadied his breathing, as it beat in his chest. He could see the snow outside his house as he dimmed the lights. He could see the shadow out of the corner of his eye right before his window shattered. He barely even heard the shatter when it happened, he was far too concerned with who was coming through it. </p><p>Or rather, what. </p><p>He knew, of course, that it was Randall Tier who was crashing through his window, suit and all. But even in Will's mind, he could see the man for exactly what he wanted to be. For the beast he saw himself to be. But that didn't matter. Who Tier saw himself as didn't matter. Who Will saw him as when he crashed through his window at first didn't matter. Because that wasn't who he stayed. Rather than see Tier, a man in a suit, he saw Hannibal, a different version of him. It was the stag man, with his oily black skin and wicked sharp antlers that Will saw at first. That Will pushed away. That Will knocked to the floor. </p><p>But once he gained the upper hand, dropping to his knees and relaying punch after punch, it wasn't the stag man he saw. It wasn't Randall Tier. It was Hannibal himself, smug and smiling under every smack of Will's fist. He could hear the crunch of bone-on-bone contact. He could feel the flesh of his knuckles tearing under every residual blow. But it wasn't Tier who died at his hand at first. It was Hannibal. </p><p>It was Hannibal's head he grasped, twisting it until he heard a sickening pop. </p><p>Yet it wasn't Hannibal who had gone still beneath him. It was truly Randall Tier. </p><p>Will opened his eyes as the front door clicked shut elsewhere in the house. His hand flexed at his side. It ached slightly, and Will hadn't bothered to clean it or cover it. He knew Hannibal would want to. Will wondered if he would let him. There wasn't much that he did before he came to Hannibal's house, dragging his kill along with him. He checked Buster's wounds, boarded up his window, and then changed his jacket. But that was all he did. His dogs were safe, he was alive. </p><p>So, he went to Hannibal. </p><p>He had already figured out how Tier had found his house. It was obvious. Tier was once Hannibal's patient. Hannibal was the one who led him there. And it was Hannibal who Will brought Tier's body to. </p><p>Hannibal entered the room not long after the front door shut, first taking in Will on the other side of the table and then the body that lied between them. </p><p>"I'd say this makes us even. I sent someone to kill you, you sent someone to kill me. Even-steven."</p><p>He could swear he saw Hannibal's eyes light up across the room. "Consider it an act of reciprocity. One positive action begets another."</p><p>"Polite society normally puts such taboos on taking a life." Will couldn't help but smirk. </p><p>"Without death, we'd be at a loss. It's the prospect of death that drives us to greatness." Hannibal neared Will as he spoke and for a moment, Will tensed. Just barely, but he did not doubt that Hannibal noticed it. "Did you kill him with your hands?"</p><p>Hannibal didn't grasp Will's hand as he pulled it into view, instead, he pressed against the underside of Will's wrist, forcing his hand to rise without grasping it to do so. </p><p>"It was very intimate."</p><p>"It deserves intimacy. You were Randall Tier's final enemy."</p><p>Hannibal shrugged off his jacket then, gesturing for Will to sit while he left the room, moving around the kitchen and returning with materials to clean Will's bloodied knuckles. Will had shrugged off his own jacket and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt by the time Hannibal returned. Hannibal set down the various materials he had brought, only to roll up his own sleeves to set to work on Will's hand. </p><p>For a moment, Will held his breath as Hannibal reached for him. </p><p>Hands. Hands. Hands. Ha-</p><p>Hannibal's touch was soft and surprisingly comforting in a way Will wasn't quite used to. He let out the breath he had been holding slowly, feeling himself relax even as Hannibal touched him. The other's grip wasn't strong, it wasn't demanding. He only ever guided Will's hand to where he needed it to be as he cleaned it, first into the porcelain bowl and then when he pressed Will's hand against the table to keep it flat while he added ointment. </p><p>Not even the bandage, which wrapped around Will's hand, didn't bother him in the way things had before. </p><p>Half of his attention was on the things Hannibal said, including Hannibal's rather nonchalant request to stay with him. </p><p>But the other half of his attention was on the fact that it didn't bother him that Hannibal was touching him. Hannibal was <em>touching him</em> and it didn't bother him. His touch was rather intimate, but it didn't bother him. Maybe because he knew, despite the intimacy of Hannibal's touch, that Hannibal wouldn't expect more. Even as he was bandaging Will's hand, if Will pulled away, Hannibal would let him. His touch, no matter how intimate, was given under the explicit — though not said — idea that it would be withdrawn if Will didn't want it. It didn't come with expectations of more. It was given just to be given, and to be withdrawn when Will was no longer comfortable. There was nothing more than Hannibal's touch and Hannibal himself. </p><p>Will didn't pull away until Hannibal was done.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Hands. Hands. Hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everywhere. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Grasping. Grabbing. Tearing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He could feel the heat of other's breath ghosting over his chin. Close. Too close. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His shirt tore. His pants were tugged at. Lips pressed against his own, unwanted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hands wrapped around his throat, moved into his hair. Pulling him down. He was suffocating. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then, there was another hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not grasping, not grabbing, just hovering above him. Offered. Waiting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was for Will to grasp, but only if he wanted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Will reached for it, fighting against the other hands that tried to keep his arms down. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Close. He was so close. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Their fingertips brushed.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Will hadn't seen Jack since the tableau he set at the museum for Randall Tier. Oh, he had told Jack that it was self-defense, which truly part of it was. And he could easily argue that his later mutilation of the body was also self-defense. His defense against Hannibal, who would expect such a thing. He was protecting himself by staging that. Hannibal would continue to trust him, in fact, he would trust him more. And any suspicion would be assuaged. </p><p>If it was, in fact, self-defense. </p><p>Though Jack believed him, that wasn't the case. </p><p>Will liked the kill. He enjoyed it. He revealed even in his 'artistic' side as he staged the body. He didn't do it in self-defense. He didn't do it for Hannibal or for Jack, both of whom lingered over his shoulders like cartoon angels and demons. He did it completely for himself. </p><p>Because he <em>liked</em> it. </p><p>However, there were more killers out there beyond the Chesapeake Ripper, who Jack had sent Will after, and even beyond Will himself. </p><p>When Will saw Jack again, it was because of one of these killers. </p><p>He didn't know what to expect when he finally drove up to the series of cars and vans, the FBI and local police. Jack had been vague on the phone. The cars blocked most of his field of view as he parked behind them, though that was done on purpose. These cars were a defense, a paltry defense, but a defense nonetheless against the crowd that was forming in the distance. Likely among them was Freddie Lounds though there was a 50/50 chance she had already stepped foot on the scene and taken pictures before the blood even dried. Will was more than certain she had a police scanner at her disposal. </p><p>Will ignored the Bentley that arrived just moments after he stepped foot out the door of his car, instead trying to see whatever lied before him. </p><p>They were somewhere in northern North Carolina, not too far from Will's house but far enough that he'd finished his coffee well before he arrived. </p><p>He continued to ignore Hannibal as he walked around the line of cars, only stopping long enough to be at the edge of the tape, waiting for Hannibal to walk next to him so they could enter together. They continued forward in silence after they arrived, neither looking at each other. </p><p>Whatever it was, whatever was awaiting them, was something dramatic enough that Jack had called both Will and Hannibal in for it. Will was almost guaranteed if it was a weird one, but Hannibal would only be involved if it was beyond weird. There was no need for them both usually. Except for this, apparently. </p><p>There were only two things that Will was certain of going forward. One, this body didn't belong to him. And two, it didn't belong to Hannibal. </p><p>They were walking in step as they approached Jack who greeted them with a head nod. Then Will looked at the body. </p><p>And he froze in his tracks. </p><p>This body didn't belong to Will and it didn't belong to Hannibal, but it most certainly could. </p><p>The body was standing upright, likely held up by rigor mortis and the pole that Will could see behind it. The eyes were closed, the face was soft, possibly manipulated after death or even beforehand. Maybe the victim was drugged so they would never know what hit them. Nevertheless, they were dead. Their arms were positioned directly in front of them, both palms turned up. Between the hands and nestled in the palms was a chalice. The chalice was gold with gems just below the rim. Inside the chalice was a heart, likely the victim's, placed in the center. The victim was dressed in a soft, lavender gown that almost looked like a tunic. There was a laurel wreath in her hair, and her body was obviously cleaned, the hair brushed, and braided, and the wound where the heart was likely taken was covered by the dress. </p><p>It looked identical to a Ripper victim at first. The placement, the attention to detail, the missing organ. </p><p>Except the organ wasn't missing. It was placed directly in the cup. </p><p>Will stepped closer to the scene, ignoring whether or not Hannibal was next to him. He was too curious to focus on anything else. </p><p>"The heart," Zeller said, walking around the body with his camera, catching Will's attention. "It's damaged. Look." </p><p>Will stepped closer again, peering down at the heart. He didn't even realize Jack had appeared at his other side and was also looking at the heart. </p><p>"It wasn't surgical." </p><p>"So, it wasn't-" Jack cut himself off. </p><p>"It couldn't be the Ripper," Will said, though at least three people knew that wasn't true. "He's locked up in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane." </p><p>In all reality, Jack, Hannibal, and Will knew this <em>could have been </em>the Chesapeake Ripper, but it wasn't. Both Will and Hannibal knew that. </p><p>No, despite the removal of organs — or rather organ — and the strategic placing and displaying of the body, this was not a Ripper kill. This was someone else. This was something else. </p><p>It was only then that Will finally looked over at Hannibal, finding his amber gaze focused on him in return. He knew they were both thinking the same thought. </p><p><em>How interesting.</em> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will barely had time to process the strangeness of the first body when two more dropped within a week. There were always killers working out and about, though overall there were very few serial killers and even of the serial killers, there were very few weird ones. Will always saw the weird ones. The ones who killed eight girls that looked like their daughter and left nothing behind, the ones who made angels of demons, the ones who took organs because his victims didn't deserve them. </p><p>The weird ones were always the ones that Will focused on the most. Standard killers were boring. Killing just to kill and then dispose of the body. It was boring to Will now. One could only find themselves so close to the Chesapeake Ripper before everyone else began to become boring as a result. </p><p>Most people were boring compared to Hannibal, whether Will was thinking about the psychiatrist or the Ripper. Hannibal was never boring. He was enticing, captivating, entertaining. Will could <em>see</em> him, and seeing someone for exactly who they were wasn't always boring. With most people, it was, but never with Hannibal. Never with the person and monster Will was finding as he carefully peeled away layer after layer of his person suit. Oh, Will was enjoying every layer he found when it came to Hannibal. </p><p>This killer, on the other hand, wasn't boring either. It was so strange to Will, given that this killer mimicked Hannibal Lecter and even himself so easily, but also not at the same time. </p><p>There was no surgical precision, the cut on the woman's torso that was left for the FBI to find wasn't perfect. It zigzagged back and forth, the product of an unsteady hand. The heart was damaged on removal suggesting whoever took it didn't quite know what they were doing. But they wanted to accomplish something and they did. </p><p>The woman stayed at the corner of Will's mind until another body dropped. He could see her, her braided hair, the laurel, the lavender gown. It all stayed there at the edge of his consciousness. Mostly because it was just so similar to Hannibal. As though this person was a student of the Ripper. </p><p>It wouldn't surprise Will. It wasn't the first time someone had studied the Ripper's techniques and come out the other end mimicking them. Never perfectly. There were always errors. Abel Gideon had certainly tried and even though he was a surgeon, his work wasn't the same. Because he was a surgeon and only a surgeon. He wasn't an artist. He didn't draw or compose, he didn't create things with his hands using flesh as his medium. </p><p>This killer, however, did. They weren't a surgeon, whoever they were. They had likely killed before, but not the same way. This person was communicating, they were talking. They were trying to say something with the placement of the body. </p><p>Their victim wasn't killed because they were rude, but because they embodied something perfectly. Something the killer was trying to say to everyone and anyone who would listen. And Will would listen. Because he was so curious. How could he not listen? </p><p>By the time the second body dropped, Will was eager to see. He wanted to see. </p><p>He wanted to know what propelled this killer to speak through their medium, through the flesh of others. They had something to say. They had a message. And Will wanted to know. </p><p>Maybe part of him thought that if he understood this message, he could understand Hannibal's too. Every little thing that the other did. Maybe if he could understand what was being communicated here, he could understand what Hannibal was saying elsewhere. Maybe he could find more in the other's actions, maybe he could learn something or see something he hadn't before. There was so much about Hannibal that Will understood at the deepest levels. He understood the other's darkness, the language he spoke. He understood his motivations and his passions. He understood the little things that Hannibal did and why he did them. He understood the monster and the man. But there were still some things, seemingly innocuous things, that Will didn't know. Things he needed to know. Things that would have been privy to those who were in a relationship. </p><p>Will shoved the last thought aside as he stepped up to the newest body left for them. </p><p>Again, it could have been something either he or Hannibal put on display. If he didn't know any better, he would have almost thought this was Hannibal's way of toying with the FBI more. How fun would it be to constantly nag at Jack, always be there at the back of his mind, always make him wonder if he had caught the right person? Hannibal would see the enjoyment in it. He would relish it, knowing that he was playing a complicated game of cat and mouse that was only known to three people. </p><p>But this wasn't Hannibal. And this wasn't Will either. Despite how much it could have been either of them. </p><p>This particular tableau was different than the last one, but Will had no doubt it was the same killer. </p><p>The body was positioned against another pole, though like the last one it seemed to be a way to ensure that the body was held upright, rather than lying on the ground. Like the previous body, this one was tied to the pole. Again, the body was likely posed so it would stay the way it was once rigor set in. And again, there was a message in the details. </p><p>The body, that of a man, was strapped to the pole but upside down. His head was closer to the ground compared to his feet which were angled skyward. On his head was a helmet with a horsehair plume. The plume itself was red, but Will couldn't help but think that the coloring wasn't as important as the helmet itself. As he neared, kneeling so he could evaluate the helmet more, he could see an engraving on one side, one that looked like a horse head and was in the same shape as a chess piece. As before, the man was holding something in his hands, but whereas the last victim had been holding a cup — or rather a goblet, he had been corrected — this one was holding a staff. There was a bright red gem held in the top of the staff with the wood of the staff carved around it. Like before, the victim's face was soft, as though they were sleeping. </p><p>His suspicion before had been correct about the previous body. The victim had been drugged prior to their death. Unlike the last one, however, this victim had no visible missing organs. </p><p>Will stood, looking more at the body, noting chainmail that was barely peeking out from under grey clothing. Like the last victim, the clothing was loose but seemed stiff enough that it stayed in place even as the victim was turned upside down. </p><p>"So, we're looking for someone who frequents a Renaissance fair," Price said. His voice had a hint of sarcasm that suggested his comment was rhetorical but it was certainly an idea to keep in mind. Will didn't know where else chainmail was sold regularly. </p><p>"Possibly an art background," Hannibal murmured, standing next to him. </p><p>Will wasn't quite certain when Hannibal arrived, but he had been aware of his presence for a while. Hannibal was the only person who could approach him as he reconstructed a murder for himself without jarring him out of his reconstruction. </p><p>Hannibal's statement was made directly to him and partially seemed like he was piggybacking off of Will's earlier thoughts, something they so often did to one another. Their thoughts were so aligned that it became easy to pick up where the other left off without even knowing it. </p><p>"There's something specific," Will muttered to Hannibal. They were a little away from everyone else that anything they said could be said to one another without whispering. "The killer is saying something. Communicating through the bodies." </p><p>"But you don't know what they're saying," Hannibal stated, following Will's thoughts. </p><p>"Do you?" Will retorted, ignoring the fact that his mind finally caught up with the position they were in. Hannibal was standing directly behind him, so close he could almost feel every twitch in the other's body. It certainly wasn't the closest they had been, that was still reserved for that night in Hannibal's kitchen and the kiss that still lingered even weeks later, but it was close nonetheless. </p><p>If Jack asked, Will could play it off in any number of ways. Hannibal was lured, he was roped and dragged wherever Will wanted him to be. This was just an example. </p><p>"I can see the picture, like you. I can see that there is a message to be said, like you. But the details are blurry. Like putting together a puzzle without seeing the box. Not all the pieces make sense yet. But I have an idea." </p><p>"Care to share, Doctor?" </p><p>Hannibal swayed closer, not enough that anyone would notice and maybe even so little that Hannibal didn't notice himself, but Will did. Will knew. And he blatantly ignored the part of him the desperately wanted to sway back. That wanted to return to Hannibal's arms. The part of him that still carried the weight of Hannibal's hands on his own, of the burn of his lips, of the heat of his hand where it had rested against his shoulder, face, or arm.</p><p>"Not yet," Hannibal answered. </p><p>"When you do, how will you share?" Will asked. </p><p>He was toying with a dangerous question. The first time Hannibal had figured out a murderer before Will, Will was gifted a body in a field. The result, the ravenstag, stayed with him, always lurking around the back of his mind, to this day. </p><p>He could almost feel Hannibal twitching, the other longing to turn him around, to touch him. But he couldn't, not here. </p><p>Will pulled his glasses free from where he deposited them in his jacket pocket.</p><hr/><p>The third body was left only two days later. </p><p>Hannibal hadn't been called for the second body, likely Jack's way of trying to keep some distance between him and Will. Hannibal had noted the way Jack's eyes darted between the two of them as they stood close together, evaluating the scene of the second body. </p><p>Part of Hannibal wondered which of the two of them he was trying to keep away from the other. Will had made an attempt on Hannibal's life in the past when it seemed like no one would ever believe him about his admittedly correct accusation. Perhaps Jack worried that Will would try again, even though Hannibal knew he wouldn't. They were too close now for Will to attempt to take his life. Perhaps Jack was worried because Will had accused Hannibal in the first place, it wouldn't take much for him to start throwing out accusations once again. The third option was Hannibal's least favorite of the ones set before him. The first two meant that Jack was trying to keep Will away from Hannibal, a laughable goal but one that was logical from Jack's point of view. The third, however, meant that Jack was trying to keep Hannibal away from Will. </p><p>And that just wouldn't do. </p><p>Hannibal resolved to try to lure Will closer, to drag them back together. He and Will were already wound around one another as it was, the kiss they shared more than proof of that, but also their connection was increased by just how well they could speak the same languages. </p><p>Will had asked him, without outright asking, if he would direct Will once again by leaving bread crumbs for him to find, as he had done with Cassie Boyle. </p><p>It was tempting. He was incredibly tempted to leave another body for Will to find, another that was meant for just Will, even if more saw it. </p><p>However, he had already taken chances by leaving the body he had. The Chesapeake Ripper was in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for all intents and purposes. Hannibal was resolved to keep him there. </p><p>No, he wouldn't be leaving another body to direct Will in the right direction. A direction he wasn't entirely certain of himself. </p><p>Part of him wondered if it was almost wishful thinking, what he had seen in the two bodies left already by this rather prolific killer. He had to wait for more to know if his hypothesis was at all correct. </p><p>Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. </p><p>Two days later, Will was back in his office, the two of them standing side by side as Will withdrew crime scene photos for Hannibal to see. They were laid out on Hannibal's desk in front of them, the pictures laying out a story as Will continued to tell his own. </p><p>As Hannibal looked at the picture of the body, he knew exactly where Will was, where his mind would take him. </p><p>Will was back in the field where the body was found, a rather barren field that made the body stand out completely. There was no missing it. The grass was dead and brown, but the body was ethereal. </p><p>It was another man. He too was strapped to a pole like the previous two victims. Like his predecessors, he wore the same loose clothing, only this time they were Olympic blue. As before, the face was soft as though the man was asleep. Will confirmed that drugs were found in each of the victims' bodies, rendering them unconscious and malleable. </p><p>"There was another staff in their hands, this one with a grey gem at the top," Will said, though he didn't need to describe the scene to Hannibal. Hannibal let him anyway. "He had a laurel too, like the first woman. The stone found in the previous victim's staff was red topaz. This one was grey tourmaline." </p><p>"The colors are significant," Hannibal replied when the other's voice quieted. </p><p>"I thought so too," Will answered, his eyes still focused on the pictures in front of them. "Why else use different colors each time?" His brow furrowed as he looked at the pictures. </p><p>"There's something familiar about this killer to you," Hannibal observed, pushing down the jealousy that surfaced. </p><p>"Not the killer," Will answered, his voice quieter. "The kills. The staging. There's something I'm not seeing. Something I know I've seen before but-" The other cut himself off as he stared at the pictures. </p><p>And Hannibal stared at Will. </p><p>He truly couldn't care about the images in front of him, though they most certainly were interesting. But not nearly as interesting as the man next to him. Nothing could ever compare to Will Graham, not really. </p><p>It didn't matter to Hannibal if it was the cunning killer who dragged his kill to Hannibal like a cat with a kill or if it was the man troubled by nightmares who answered the door in sweat-soaked clothing. Hannibal didn't care if it was the fisherman, the dog lover, or the cold, cruel monster. They were all Will. The same Will that he longed to pull closer, to fold back into his arms. He wouldn't though until Will was ready. </p><p>The debt between them was paid, as Will so accurately observed. </p><p>'Even steven.'</p><p>They were even now, on equal footing where Hannibal had so tediously worked to put them. He would stay here if need be. He could be happy here, content to look at Will even if he never touched him. Content to watch the monster and man under his skin come together, to work together. </p><p>To be Will Graham in all his glory. </p><p>Will continued to stare at the pictures in front of him and Hannibal continued to stare at Will, both of them holding answers that neither was quite ready for. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feel free to come yell at me on <a href="https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/NWriter14">Twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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